


An Empty Box

by Mochas N Mayhem (KoohiiCafe)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Torchwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoohiiCafe/pseuds/Mochas%20N%20Mayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was an empty box beside the desk, waiting to be filled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Empty Box

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** An Empty Box  
>  **Author:** Koohii Cafe  
>  **Rating:** General Audiences  
>  **Crossover:** BtVS/Torchwood  
>  **Disclaimer:** Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that neither BtVS nor Torchwood are mine. ^^;  
>  **Written for:** [TtH](http://www.tthfanfic.org/) [August Fic A Day Challenge](http://forum.tthfanfic.org/index.php?topic=9537.0)  
>  **Summary:** _There was an empty box beside the desk, waiting to be filled._

There was an empty box beside the desk, waiting to be filled. She stared at it, unseeing. She needed to fill it, she knew. Needed to begin clearing everything from wooden surface, packing it away carefully, wrapping each bit with love, so that it could be put away. The desk used again, by whoever would fill this office next. She didn't know who, didn't really care, truth be told, and she didn't think it'd been decided yet anyway. They'd suggested her, because she was the natural choice, but she wouldn't. Couldn't. It was already hard enough just being here, without him. Staring at the empty box. It was as empty as her heart was, right now. Empty as she felt. Nothing there, nothing left.

Behind her, the door opened. She didn't turn to see. Didn't need to, really, because she could smell him. Hadn't she once told Angel that the smelling thing was weird? But she could always smell Jack, that unique blend of otherworldly and old and desire, of _him_. It wasn't what she wanted right now.

"Get out," she whispered, without looking. Without moving at all. She heard him stop, close the door behind him, and her nostrils flared.

"Buffy-"

"You're- overpowering it," she interrupted, and there was a vehemence to her tone. "With you in here, I can't smell it anymore. The books- he always liked the fact that they smelled." Musty. Old. And, before Jack had opened the door, beneath the books, the thin scent of his cologne. Now covered completely.

He didn't answer. Didn't open the door and walk out. Instead, he ignored her, came closer, till she felt his hand on her shoulder, the warmth of him at her back, and the scent of him drowning out everything else. She thought about pushing him away, but it was already too late. She knew instinctively that even if he left now, she wouldn't be able to smell it again. So she stood, and stared at the empty box.

"You don't have to do this now." His voice was soft, quiet. He squeezed her shoulder, and she shook her head.

"They're going to need the office," she answered, her voice empty. As empty as the box, as empty as everything else. "Whoever gets the job will need it, cause- it's the biggest office. Perfect for the meeting things. Explaining who we are- _what_ we are. It's the perfect setting for the whole speech."

He'd always loved that. The speech. She'd loved teasing him about it, but here? In this office, so old and ornate, and surrounded by his old, musty books and the stonework of the building... No one would ever be more suited for it. No one would _ever_ give it the way he had, would ever be as _right_ as he had been for it. But someone... someone else would sit behind this desk. Someone else would be here now, would be the face that greeted the newcomers. Someone else would tell them;

"Into every generation a slayer is born." Her voice fell. Soft. A whisper. Unsteady now, where it hadn't been before. Something there that hadn't been there before. Empty... She wanted to be empty, and she had been, but there, beneath her whispered words, beneath the warm hand on her shoulder, beneath the cloying scent of the man behind her, _something_ was creeping in. She soldiered on despite it. Fought against it, to keep herself steady. "One girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. She is the Slayer."

The start of the speech. The one he'd given to a frightened young girl in a library all those years ago. Then, that had been the entire speech. Now there was more. _So_ much more.

The hand on her shoulder tightened again, and then Jack pressed closer still. She could feel the press of his broad chest against her back, the way his hand slipped from her shoulder to wind around her and hug her close, and she shook her head. All she could smell was Jack. No musty old books. No cologne beneath it all. But he didn't speak, and she continued, and in her memory, a deeper, older voice overlaid her own.

" _One girl_. One girl who fought, who sacrificed everything, to save the world. And then- one girl became _many_ , for the sake of the world."

Her voice cracked, and she shuddered. Gasped for air as wetness stung at her eyes. She could hear him still. Could hear the _pride_ he'd always had there. She could remember the way, when he got to that part, he would glance at her sometimes, and his eyes would _shine_. He'd go on, after that, because there was _so much_ to tell. So much to teach to the young girls who came to them here, so much they had to learn about themselves. But who- who would do that now? Who would sit at this desk and teach them all of it?

She couldn't. She _wouldn't_. She could never be _him_. And she couldn't stay here and watch anyone _else_ take his place either.

There was an empty box beside the desk, waiting to be filled. But she couldn't fill it. She couldn't clear everything from the wooden surface, couldn't pack it away carefully, couldn't wrap each bit with love so that it could be put away. She turned, suddenly, and as the cracks burst, as her facade fell, as she broke, she buried herself into Jack's chest, buried herself in that scent that was _his_ and not Giles'.


End file.
